


De Rien

by Jackrabbit



Series: Power Trio Cuddles [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cuddling, Gen, Male Friendship, Non-Sexual Intimacy, domestic cuteness, no seriously this is just purely cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackrabbit/pseuds/Jackrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is very, very bad at sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Rien

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be a single, short, self-indulgent cuddlefic. Then I started writing it, and it became a longish cuddlefic. And then I realized I had ideas for more cuddlefics, and it exploded.  
> So what this ended up being was two and a half _thousand_ words (holy crap when did that happen) that my betas assure me made them smile like dorks and also the first part in a series of at least four cuddlefics. What can I say, I'm a sucker for cuddles.  
>  (Also one of my headcanons for Enjolras is that he's extremely tactile with friends he knows well, but otherwise doesn't touch people at all, and this is fairly early in Combeferre and Enjolras's friendship).  
> This story is dedicated to the Enjolras to my Combeferre, my darling Disa, and also to tumblr user yosb for providing me with information about 19th century sleepwear! I promise I'll use the information more next installment, it's already being written that way. I hope you enjoy it!

Combeferre had never before met anyone who is bad at sleeping, but it would seem to be a fitting descriptor for Enjolras. In the first few months of their sharing an apartment, he'd woken in the middle of the night more times than he cares to count to find Enjolras hunched over the desk, absorbed in a book or scribbling away furiously. Enjolras always waved away Combeferre's queries and promised, when Combeferre insisted, that he'd go to sleep after only a bit more work. As Combeferre was, while habitually polite upon waking, a deep sleeper who disliked being awoken, he would then promptly fall back asleep, and so never verified whether or not Enjolras actually did.  
He should have expected that Enjolras would consistently forget to come through on his promises to rest. But, as he himself was often not quite at his best from lack of sleep, mostly his own fault since he kept finding new books to read and accidentally staying the night at the library, and spent many of his days in a state of exhaustion, he lacked the observational skills to notice the same symptoms in his friend. 

He lacked them, that is, until he came returned from the library at dawn for the third consecutive night to find Enjolras still pouring over a stack of papers.  
"You know," he said as he hung up his coat, "if you wanted to study, you could have come to the library with me. I’m rather proud of the collection we have, but the resources at your disposal there would be far wider." 

Enjolras's response was slow, as if upon waking. "I had what I needed here. And I wasn't precisely... Studying."

Combeferre shrugged. "Neither was I. I set out determined to finish the Locke manuscript I started last night, but by the time I left I realized I'd spent most of my time with a lepidopterology..." 

He trailed off as took stock of his friend. Enjolras's normally elegant posture had been worn down to a tired slump, his waistcoat still on but unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves stained with ink, his golden curls uncombed and matted. He looked exhausted. 

Combeferre knelt and cupped Enjolras’s face in his hands with a delicacy normally reserved for the catching of moths. Up close, Combeferre noticed, his friend looked even worse. The fact that Enjolras, never the most tactile of Combeferre’s acquaintances, practically leaned into his touch was as worrying as the mild tremors that ran up and down Enjolras’s body. “Have you slept?” he asked.

Enjolras turned his head to lean more heavily against Combeferre’s hand. “Mmph,” he said eloquently. “No.”

Combeferre sighed. “And yesterday?”

“No.”

“And the day before? Actually, no, when was the last time you slept?”

A line formed between Enjolras’s eyebrows as he struggled to remember. “I’m not sure,” he finally said.

“Christ.” Combeferre tugged him upright and nudged him away from the desk. “It’s not healthy, Enjolras. I know I forget to sleep sometimes but you make my habits look positively textbook.”

“I’ve been busy,” Enjolras protested, stubbornly clinging to the chair. “I’m still busy.”

“You’re exhausted,” Combeferre countered.

“There are things I must attend to today!” Enjolras suddenly straightened, his eyes brightening with a goal within his grasp. “The students at the polytechnic – I promised to speak to them today, I mustn’t let them down, we need their support if we’re ever to get anything done –”

“I’ll speak with them,” interrupted Combeferre, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You need your rest.”

“It must be me, I was the one who approached them!” Enjolras exclaimed. Then, seeing the concern on his friend’s face, he reached out and took Combeferre’s hand in his own. “Please,” he said, his voice lower and edging on pleading. “Let me do my work today. I will rest later.”

Combeferre wondered if Enjolras had been taking lessons from Courfeyrac, that he would know so well what such a simple gesture could achieve. It couldn’t have been all learned manipulation, though; the look on Enjolras’s face was too earnest, and he revived considerably with a goal in sight.

“Promise that you’ll sleep tonight, and I’ll let you go without trouble,” Combeferre said, softening. 

“I promise that I’ll sleep tonight,” Enjolras said with a smile. He squeezed Combeferre’s hand, reassuringly, then pulled away and returned to his papers.

Combeferre merely sighed and went to organize his things before his first class, making a mental note to return to the apartment closer to dusk than dawn this time.

Of course, as he knew Enjolras’s mind well, he was not surprised at all when he returned from the library several hours after dark to find Enjolras still sitting at the desk. When he failed to respond to the sound of the door or to Combeferre moving around the room, Combeferre very deliberately dropped his books from some height onto the desk, the thick texts landing just inches from Enjolras’s pen with a clattering thump. Enjolras jumped and whipped his head up to stare confusedly up at Combeferre.

“You promised me that you would sleep,” Combeferre reminded him sternly.

Enjolras blinked, then blinked again. “I will sleep,” he replied. “Just not yet. I’m not quite finished with this pamphlet.” He turned back to his work, waving a hand dismissively in Combeferre’s general direction. “Some of the phrasing does not seem to read well, would that I had a true wordsmith here to help…”

Combeferre bit back a groan of frustration and caught the wrist that Enjolras had carelessly flapped at him. “Enjolras,” he said, “look at me.”

With an air of extreme reluctance, the blond finally turned from his work. 

“You haven’t slept in days. And I know, I know,” Combeferre continued, bulling over any objections Enjolras tried to form, “you’ve gone without sleep before, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy, and it’s starting to be obvious. You’re shaking, you’re pale, you’re obviously chilled, the circles under your eyes are approaching a color to match something I’d wear to a funeral, for goodness’ sake, and you haven’t been able to get your eyes to focus on me since I started talking. I can tell. You’re going to sleep, now.”

This time, when Enjolras was tugged upright and propelled in the direction of his bedroom, he actually went. Combeferre shut the door behind him with a sigh of relief and settled in at the desk to do his own work.

Just minutes later, Enjolras came bursting back out of the bedroom, babbling wild phrases incomprehensible to Combeferre. He darted to the desk and began to write furiously again, running his free hand through his hair until it got caught in the tangles and he had to yank it free. Combeferre took the moment to stare in bewilderment. Enjolras had removed his waistcoat and unbuttoned his shirt but apparently failed to take it off, as it still clung loosely to his shoulders and arms. The cuffs, previously shoved up above his elbows, had fallen down again to his wrists. He was shivering, though feverishly focused on the paper before him, and he was barefoot.  
Combeferre took off his spectacles, laid them gently on the desk, and rubbed tiredly at his face. This wouldn’t do for either of them. Enjolras would have to sleep whether he wanted to or not, even if Combeferre had to barricade him in his room or-

 _Well,_ thought Combeferre, _there’s an idea,_ and pushed away from the desk. He then took a moment to peer over his friend’s shoulder. He had to stifle a laugh at what he saw. “Enjolras,” he said, amused, “in the midst of your rhetoric, you appear to have written, ‘We need more cabbages.’ Perhaps you should leave off for the night?”

Enjolras appeared surprised. “I suppose I must be more tired than I thought,” he replied after some consideration. “But I still have work I must finish. I can simply edit out any extraneous phrases later.”

“No,” said Combeferre, “you’ll sleep now. Go to your room, change, get in bed, and go to sleep.” For a moment, Enjolras looked ready to protest. Combeferre cut him off preemptively by saying, “You promised this morning that you’d sleep tonight, and I know you. If you keep working now, you won’t sleep at all and you’ll be surprised when the sun rises and you’re still up yet again. Go.”

Somewhat to Combeferre’s surprise, Enjolras went. After watching to ensure that Enjolras actually went into his room, he returned to his own bedroom to change. Then, once clad in a clean nightshirt and pants, he once again crossed the living area and knocked on Enjolras’s door. It swung open under his touch, revealing Enjolras sitting on the edge of the bed trying to corral his curls into a ponytail. Combeferre felt his mouth twitch into a smile; Enjolras had in the past complained about nightcaps and expressed frustration at trying to braid his hair to keep it from tangling too much while he slept.

“Here,” Combeferre offered, stepping into the room. “Let me.”

Enjolras gave a sigh of relief and held out the string he’d been using. “Thank you. It’s a struggle to do this every night,” he said, turning sideways so Combeferre could better manage his hair.

“I imagine so,” Combeferre replied. “There is, after all, a reason why I wear my hair so short. Though it has never been quite so difficult to manage as yours.” He finally managed to tie down Enjolras’s hair and smoothed his hand affectionately over the top of Enjolras’s head. “Now lie down.”

Enjolras shot him a glare, presumably at being ordered about like a child, but it was somewhat diminished in effect by the way Enjolras had to break off in the middle to yawn. The movement made them both smile, and Enjolras finally nodded his surrender and swung his legs up onto the bed, scooting over until his back was nearly against the wall. Combeferre sat down on the edge of the bed, near the space Enjolras had just vacated, and rubbed at his temples. It had been a long few days for him as well, and he could feel a headache building behind his eyes from fatigue. Enjolras watched him with an air of sleepy confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Combeferre dropped his hands to his lap before he answered. “I’m making sure you stay in bed and sleep.”

“I don’t need you to act as my nursemaid,” Enjolras protested. 

“The last time I told you to go to sleep, you came back out of the room only minutes later, half undressed, and continued working,” countered Combeferre. “Evidently, you do.”  
Enjolras subsided with an uncharacteristically childish grumble that made Combeferre smile. In the minutes of silence that followed, Combeferre could feel his headache growing worse and realized, with a frustrated sigh, that he would have to sleep tonight as well, and try to finish the paper he had been working on in the morning.

“Will you please go lie down? I think you must look worse than I do.”

The sudden query startled Combeferre, who could have sworn that Enjolras was bordering on sleep already. But no, his blue eyes were open and while not alert or particularly focused, were directed at Combeferre.

“You need rest more that I do,” Combeferre replied. “And I don’t trust you not to get up again if I go lie down in my room. I’m staying here until you fall asleep.”

“Then lie down here. There’s room on the bed.”

Surely hallucinations could not come this early in the sleep deprivation process, Combeferre thought. “What?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t really mind,” Enjolras told him. “And that way we can both rest. I doubt I could manage climbing over your sleeping body without waking you on the way to the door, not in this state, and if you lie down you’ll stop looking like you’re about to fall over.”

“Alright,” Combeferre conceded after a moment’s thought. Put that way, Enjolras’s proposal made sense, and he was so very tired. As soon as Enjolras lifted the coverlet for him, he slid under and settled down gratefully on his back, and they resumed their silence. 

After a few minutes he chanced a look at Enjolras again. The blond was staring straight up at the ceiling, mouthing words that were no doubt committed to memory and would be written down first thing in the morning. Enjolras quickly realized the scrutiny he had come under and returned Combeferre’s gaze, rolling onto his side. 

“My mind as of yet refuses to let go of the pamphlet I was writing, even as I know I should rest,” he said, and shrugged as best as he could with one shoulder. “My fingers itch for the pen, yet somehow I feel as though the rest of me has turned to lead.”

“I know,” replied Combeferre with a smile as he rolled to face his friend. “That’s why I’m here. You must sleep.”

Enjolras’s only response was an affirmative sort of noise as he chewed his lip, clearly still trying to string phrases together in his head. Combeferre would have rolled his eyes if it wouldn’t have aggravated his headache. “At least try to stop thinking, will you?” he continued, absent-mindedly reaching out to tuck a curl that had already worked its way loose back behind Enjolras’s ear. 

Enjolras seemed to smile at the touch. “I will try.”

Emboldened by sleep deprivation and the lack of negative response to his last contact, Combeferre ran his fingers lightly along the waves of Enjolras’s hair. Enjolras was often careless about his appearance and let his hair fall freely about his face, like a child’s before their first haircut, where it often tangled. Still, Combeferre found the curls under his touch to be soft and fairly smooth. When tension seemed to leave his friend’s face, Combeferre repeated the motion, tracing his fingers from the part of Enjolras’s hair to his neck then again and again until Enjolras was completely relaxed and bordering on sleep.

“S’nice,” Enjolras slurred. Combeferre smiled widely; somehow it did not surprise him that Enjolras would try to get the last word. He repeated the motion once more before dropping his hand to the mattress between them, where Enjolras laced their fingers together momentarily before shifting forward on the mattress and draping his arm across Combeferre’s ribs. Combeferre tucked one arm under his head and slipped the other around Enjolras’s shoulders and up to cup the back of his head and pulled his friend closer to him. Enjolras pressed himself tightly to Combeferre’s chest. Being as slight as he was, Enjolras felt chilled more easily than most; no doubt he quite enjoyed the warmth of the embrace. Wrapped this tightly around another body, Combeferre suddenly remembered reading once that children were often soothed by listening to heartbeats and wondered if the sound of his own heart was lending Enjolras any comfort.

Enjolras, now settled with his head resting against Combeferre’s collarbone and cheek pressed to Combeferre’s chest, squeezed Combeferre tightly for a moment and gave a great sigh of contentment. In that rush of breath, Combeferre just managed to discern a quiet, “thank you.” He smiled and resumed stroking Enjolras’s hair. He could feel every breath Enjolras took and every thump of his heart as he settled, and could hear the small, contented sighs he made as he fell asleep. With his own eyelids growing heavy and sleep rising over him, he pressed his lips softly to the top of his friend’s head.

_“De rien, mon ami. De rien.”_


End file.
